Another strange week, of course. No gallbladder pain, but feeling very tired and tempted to stay in bed. Antibiotics seem to be working (how would I know?) but had quite bad diarrhoea at lunchtime after feeling odd during the morning. This afternoon, however, I have just been for a short walk towards the Julian Bridge. Dot left me to continue towards the shops, and I walked home. Glad it wasn’t any further. Quite windy, but not cold. Not warm either.
We had quite a bit of rain yesterday, but of course I didn’t go near it, though I did put out the bins. It was our 52nd wedding anniversary, and Dot got a lovely card for me. I responded with a map card of Braemar and the Linn of Quoich, one of our favourite spots. We had had the card for ages, but didn’t want to send it to someone for whom it would have no meaning.
Earlier in the day Paul came round, and after the three of us had a drink I had quite a long talk with him while Dot went up for a successful visit to the chiropodist. Dot cooked some grilled steak in the evening as an anniversary meal.
Dot went to church on Sunday (St Aug at St Luke’s). It was Communion led by Sarah and went very well despite the oddness of everything. Next Sunday I’m supposed to be preaching. We’ll see. Tonight’s Zoom Cake and Compline has been called off because David, Bridget and Vicky are all camping, or loitering within tents, as I call it.
Dot had a long phone conversation with Caren Gazley this morning. She has had gall bladder problems for years but resisted having it out for a long time. She is now on a waiting list for an operation.
I have done a bit of reading and completed a few poems, as well as catching up on a few TV series and following the cricket. Don’t really like plonking myself in front of the TV, but don’t really feel like doing much else. Last day on antibiotics tomorrow; hope that will be a good thing. Dot is pretty well and very positive as always. What a star.
It’s 9am and it feels as if the day has half gone, but at the same time has hours and hours to go. It seems quite pleasant outside, when I catch the occasional glimpse. I have been in hospital for a week but hope to be going home this evening.
I thought I had got over my June gallstones, but on my birthday I felt bad, and with occasional relief the day after – I was able to go a garden centre with Dot, for instance – it gradually worsened. By Wednesday teatime it got much worse, and Dot rang 999. A clinician rang us back and decided we should go to A&E. So we did.
The usual tests ensued, and I ended up on a side room on Easton ward. Long time ago. After pain relief, I was transferred to Dilham ward (bed 9-1), had another CT scan, followed by a procedure involving putting a camera down my throat, through my gullet and into the gall bladder(or just below it) to remove a suspected stone, lodged near my pancreas. Turned out there was no stone (or it had passed or been miraculously dispersed – which I don’t rule out) but there seemed to be a fistula, which had trapped food. I wasn’t clear what a fistula was. The whole concept of eating I found very off-putting. Later a doctor drew me a diagram, which helped – with my understanding, that is.
It was then decided I needed an MRI scan to take a closer look. I could have had this the next morning, but the nurses forgot to tell me not to eat and drink after midnight. In fact I had diarrhoea and asked specifically if I should eat. I was told yes, I should flush it through. Pretty angry. Another day’s delay, with my hands and arms covered with bruises from attempts to affix cannulas. Made you really appreciate someone who knew how to take blood.
Eventually I had the MRI scan, at about 7.30am on Tuesday. I was told there were no complications, but I had to fight the infection with at least two sorts of antibiotics – one oral, one intravenous. I needed to stay in hospital until my blood was back to normal. So I was sort of dumped back in bed and left for monitoring, while much more interesting and worse-off patients got all the attention. Quite rightly of course, but annoyingly if they happened to be South African, deaf, noisy and determined to get their rights.
Gradually the diarrhoea abated and I felt a bit more like eating. Dot kept me going all through with daily two-hour masked visits, which were particularly valuable when I felt low. After the first few days I was able to read and have finished Ancillary Mercy and several newspapers, plus sudoku.
The MRI scan was more complicated than I thought, involving lots of holding my breath, which was quite difficult. Amazingly thorough, though. Hard to imagine anything not being seen. Main problem with ward as usual is under-provision of toilets. I was “told off” twice for using women’s toilets, but there is only one men’s toilet, and that’s often unusable. In fact all the sane nurses said you could use either; so I did.
There is some confusion over whether I’ve had pancreatitis or not. However it’s apparently not my fault. Obviously guilt was my big worry.
All pales into insignificance compared to Peter Walker, who was in the centre-opposite bed until yesterday. Had a brief chat with him at one point. As he departed it became clear that he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer (probably liver) and was being taken to Priscilla Bacon Lodge. He looked totally devastated – and probably was.
Incidentally I am now confident I don’t have COVID-19. Not yet, anyway. I have had at least six tests, all negative.
Written today, July 23, at home
Dot came to see me in the afternoon, and eventually I was almost rushed away, without my discharge letter, because there was a printing problem. The duty doctor was a bit uncertain, because my white cell count wasn’t improving as much as it might. I was uncertain too, but really didn’t want to spend another night in hospital. So we made a run for it, with the assistance of nurse Mary, who had all my drugs ready, including a pack I know nothing about and as far as I know haven’t had before. They seem to be painkillers.
Felt very woosy on the way to the car and later – in fact I still do, a bit. Had a bit of food in the evening but not up to much. Went to bed early, as far as I can remember, and slept reasonably well. Dot has been doing her online retreat today, but we had lunch together. Amazingly, no phone calls (up to now, which is after 5pm). Des delivered the groceries, though. Timed to perfection so that Dot could go to the door.
Had a bath and went to sleep in it, which made me feel very strange. Watched a bit of TV, and later sat in the garden for a few minutes. Weather mild. Birds still friendly.
Not only did the gas man come again to drain the system and put a new valve in, but we had to have another gas man come on Saturday, because the boiler wasn’t working. Unfortunately this coincided with a couple of chilly days, but it seems to be all right now.
We had our hair cut on Friday after more than three months, which was a great relief. Unfortunately it may have been a shock to the system – combined with the cold house – because by the time we got to my 75th birthday on Sunday I was in a sad state, feeling rotten and not eating anything all day, which was sad for Dot, because she had wanted to celebrate by taking me to the coast. I was convinced I had Covid-19, but I probably haven’t. Anyway we shall soon know because I’m about to take my fourth test , if I can work out how to put the cardboard box together.
I did manage to lead the Zoom service in the evening, but it was touch and go. All I had to do was sit at a table and read the liturgy, then give a slightly controversial talk. June joined for the first time (from Beccles).
Another thing that may not have helped my condition was standing out in the road having a glass of wine on Friday evening and chatting with the neighbours. Seemed pretty harmless, but that’s what I did just before going into hospital a month ago.
The highlight of my birthday was FaceTime with David, Amy and Oliver in the afternoon. They had sent me some books – one on the Fens and Ancillary Mercy – and a stand for my iPhone.
I wish I felt more lively and well. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Yesterday it was partly my head and partly my stomach, but in a different way to what what it had been earlier. I had a high temperature for a while. Most of the time I just want to go to sleep. Must be very depressing for Dot.
The gas engineer come today and enjoyed himself so much he stayed for over two hours. Not only that, he’s coming back on Tuesday, because he’s not sure that everything is right yet. There was a problem with one of the valves, and now he thinks there may be a blockage somewhere. Nice bloke. Hopefully he’ll sort it out.
We also got a letter from the hospital with a date to discuss my scan. September 18!!! On the plus side, it could mean there’s nothing seriously wrong, but on the minus side, I still don’t know what the problem is and so can’t really adjust my diet appropriately, and don’t know if I need to adjust it at all.
I rang the surgery this afternoon, but they hadn’t got the results yet. They suggested ringing back in a week. Fortunately, I’m not in pain at the moment.
So the diary is filling up. Next Friday we should be able to get our hair cut, barring a Covid-19 spike in Thorpe Hamlet, and on the 20th Oliver and Amy are planning to visit us, which is certainly something to look forward to.
Yesterday Anne came round in the morning, and she and Dot went up into the city . Dot bought some fruit from the market. It was verging on chilly, but in the afternoon Dot and I went up to Roger’s and had tea in the garden with him and Debbie, which was very pleasant. Even chillier today, though.
This morning I sorted out the liturgy for Sunday. We had another Cake and Compline on Tuesday, which went OK, though David (“screenitis”) and Claire (exhausted after annual leave, plus toothache) didn’t make it. Last night I had my first “proper” meal for several weeks – white fish, potatoes and asparagus.
The young blackbirds are getting to know us and are as familiar as their parents now.
